When the wicked stepmother got home, she picked up her magic mobile straightaway, and keyed in:
"Mobile, mobile, in my hand
who's the hottest babe in all the land?"
And the mobile answered as before:
"You're the hottest babe here, Oh Mistress, but—"
"Not again!" shrieked the old Tart.
"Er...I'm afraid so. Want me to lie?"
"Just spit it out."
"Er..Snow White who's hanging out with seven randy midgets far away is a thousand times hotter than you, you washed-up old junkie fag-hag."
"WHAT?!! Not again!?"
"Yep. And she still makes you look like an ageing slapper who's been cobbled together from silicone implants left over from bad boob jobs. Now you can fling me against the—"

No sooner had the groans of the mobile subsided into self-pitying little electronic hiccups, than the evil Tart exploded with rage. "Fuck it!" she screamed. "That fucking bitch must die! Even if it costs me my own life." Then she went into the kitchen and opening the refrigerator, took out a banana. When I say 'banana' I don't want you to imagine one of those limp, brown-streaked excuses for a fruit that you pick up down your local Tesco's. No, this was an altogether finer specimen; twelve inches long, as firm as a virgin's resistance and curved to just the right amount to stimulate all those hard-to-reach spots other fruits don't. In short, this was a 'superfruit' and, as we shall shortly discover, any woman who saw it would instantly want it; no matter how many bloody rabbits she kept in her knicker drawer. It had one extra characteristic; one half of it was laced with the most deadly poison ever dreamed up by man, or in this case, an evil-hearted bitch who had popped out to the local Garden centre that morning and bought two gallons of weedkiller which she'd carefully distilled down into something pretty bloody lethal.

When the banana was ready, she put on her make up and disguised herself as cheap tart, which was really quite unnecessary because she looked like one anyway. Once again, she made her way through the forest to the house of the seven dwarves and knocked at the door.
"I mustn't let stwangers in," said Snow White, putting her pretty head out of the window. "The seven dwarves won't let me."
"It doesn't matter," said the old woman. "I only want to get rid of these bananas. Here—I'll make you a present of this one."
"No," said Snow White. "I'm not allowed to take anything fwom stwange women. Go away."
"Are you afraid of poison?" said the old woman. "Look, I'm cutting it in half. Now I'm slipping it between my legs. You can play with the top half and I'll play with the bottom half." Attentive readers will have grasped that the banana had been so cunningly modified that only one end was poisoned. Well, some of you might not have twigged that. Look! I'm only trying to be helpful, OK?

Anyway, when Snow White saw what just one half of the banana was doing to the woman she simply couldn't resist any longer. She flung open the door, and with a graceful series of delightful movements, transferred the banana from her lovely breasts to her silken thighs just by wiggling her hips. See? I told you we'd get to that bit eventually. No sooner had the delicious fruit touched her pussy than she fell to the floor, stone dead. The evil Tart gave her a cruel look, laughed a terrible laugh, and said: "Thighs as white as snow, lips as red as blood, hair as black as ebony. Those fucking dwarves won't revive you this time—bitch!" And with that, she stuffed the poisoned half of the banana down Snow White's throat, ate the other half (to destroy the evidence), kicked her hated rival one last time just for the hell of it, and rushed home to consult her precious mobile.

"Mobile, mobile, in my hand
who's the hottest babe in all the land?"
And the mobile answered:
"You, O Mistress, are the hottest in the land."

"Fucking ace!" she shouted triumphantly, and promptly blew the first guy she saw when she went out to celebrate her victory. At last her wicked, envious heart was at peace, insofar as she had a heart that could experience anything remotely resembling peace.

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